Shutter
by halfpennybuddha
Summary: When Scorpius' best friend moves to America she leaves him a gift that might just be the catalyst for starting future friendships or something more. AS/S Pre-slash drabble.


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**Pairing(s):** Albus/Scorpius Pre-slash  
**Summary:** _When Scorpius' best friend moves to America she leaves him a gift that might just be the catalyst for starting future friendships or something more._  
**Rating:** PG (though there might be some naughty language I'm accidentally missing. I have a dirty mouth.)  
**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Warnings:** Minor angst, perhaps. Not beta'd.  
**Epilogue Compliant?:** yessirreebob.  
**Word Count:** ~2,800  
**Author's Notes:** my first shortfic. There may or may not be a sequel (I have one kind of mapped out in my head, but I'm ridiculously lazy so it probably wont happen for a while if it ever does.)

_"Where there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see."_

- Dorthea Lange

Scorpius Malfoy never particularly cared for winter, and it wasn't solely because his frightfully pale complexion, his silvery blonde hair and sharp gray eyes made him blend delightfully well in a large snow drift. No, Scorpius had many different reasons. Like the castle; though made of thick, dense stone, the castle walls of Hogwarts seemed to mirror the same bleak chill both inside and out during the frosty season and Scorpius often found himself struggling to stay warm in the lower corridors and classrooms.

That wasn't his greatest reason, however, just a logical one.

When winter came it was a thousand times more likely that he'd be stuck inside because of bad weather or frigid temperatures…and while he wasn't exactly the most outdoorsy-type person in the world, his favourite subjects were Herbology and Astronomy – both somewhat outdoorsy classes and, quite frankly, the sheer size of the Astronomy tower frightened him. He'd always been afraid of heights. He missed traipsing around the Forbidden Forest with Professor Longbottom and a few other students looking for rare plants and collecting Potion's ingredients and his heart ached for the chance to sneak out of the castle late at night and throw himself on the grassy knoll by the lake, still a bit warm from earlier in the day, and watch the stars until the sun rose pink and red in the distance.

And when winter came he'd be forced to go back to the Manor for two dreadful, miserable weeks. He knew, if he asked, his father would gladly allow him to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays – if only to make him happy – but he knew that he might think Scorpius didn't want to be around him and that would probably break his heart a little and Scorpius knew he could never do that to him. To see his warm, worried, adoring smile was definitely worth a little discomfort when faced with his mother coolly inquiring about his grades and achievements and which influential family he'd tried to become friendly acquaintances with since she'd last seen him over a near silent, awkward meal.

And probably one of the most depressing things was the lack of colour – the aura of death that winter seemed to exude. Sure, it was beautiful. He could admit that…but the sky was usually so overcast and grey and the trees black and twisted, softened only by the stark white snow that blanketed everything. Scorpius loved colour – loved the lush green of the grassy lawn and the bright orange of the pumpkins that grew around Professor Hagrid's hut and the deep blue of the lake and the explosion of reds and blues and purples and yellows of the wildflowers that grew around the War memorial near the Whomping Willow. When winter came, the only glimpses of colour he could catch came from the rich oils of portraits or the faded threads of ancient tapestries or, on occasion, a student's flashy wardrobe beneath their school robes. His own clothes – carefully ordered, inspected and packed at the beginning of each school year by his mother and her personal house elf Tibble – boasted no such traits.

Scorpius scowled out of the diamond-paned window beside his bed, perched on its deep stone ledge. The dorm was, thankfully, empty. Three weeks till the holidays had brought a bitter cold snap – the affects of which barreled towards the ground in the form of huge, fat flakes of snow (though it was little more than a flurry now.) He knew if he looked hard enough he could probably spot a large majority of the school down on the glistening white lawn near the Quidditch pitch playing like uncouth, silly children. He didn't want to see them, though, so he forced his gaze to the Forbidden Forest instead; his head resting uncomfortably back against the freezing wall and his hands tightly gripping his sleek, silver camera.

It had been a parting gift from his best – and only – friend, Aspen Kodak, at the end of last year.

Their family was quite famous for the development of Muggle cameras, film, accessories and other photography-related equipment. After learning their only daughter was a Witch, they'd done what pretty much any business mogul probably would have – they tapped into a new, fresh market. Wizarding photographs, while wonderful in that they allowed a short, looped scene to be caught on paper rather than a still, were still decades behind the Muggle world when it came to quality and colour even though the death of a Muggle-born named Colin Creevy during the War had inspired many local Wizarding schools to build darkrooms and give classes on the subject in his memory. Thus the reason for Aspen's move; her family planned to expand their booming business and open a new factory in Salem.

The camera, she'd told him, was the only one of its kind. Its creation had been a fluke – they'd been attempting to create a camera that could process Wizarding film in colour. Instead, they'd created a potential window that allowed the photographer to capture the essence of someone's _soul_…in a picture.

Scorpius had only used it once, just that summer. He hadn't truly believed what Aspen had told him – she'd given him no evidence to prove it and he hadn't questioned her about it at the time – so one day, a bit bored and wandering around the Manor, he'd come across his mother. She sat elegantly poised in a stiff, straight-backed chair in the Library sipping tea and reading a dusty book of French poetry. Her long blonde hair had been pulled back in a severe knot at the base of her skull that should have made her seem older, but instead accented her aristocratic features and high cheek bones. His cold, beautiful mother whom he'd always strove to please had seemed so ethereal in that moment with the faint, warm glow of sunlight playing across her stern face that he hadn't been able to help himself.

After developing the picture – and subsequently casting it into the fire – he'd never taken another with it again. He concluded it must be dangerous somehow, though, and had begun to take it with him everywhere ever since.

His stomach gurgled quietly so he shot a backwards glance at the dark mahogany grandfather clock that stood near the door. 12:37; lunch was half over. He sighed and shoved himself away from the window, frowning at the cold stone floor beneath his feet. He'd skipped breakfast already. It wouldn't do to miss lunch as well – he didn't want people to think he was starving himself or had become ill or something.

Her jerked open the creaky oak door to his 6th year dorm and down the narrow passageway into the empty Ravenclaw common room. A large fire burned in the giant fireplace, the dancing flames flickering lazily in the distorted reflections of various bronze trinkets and objects. Thick, dark blue rugs almost black covered the ground but did nothing to diminish the size of the space. Large, overstuffed blue couches and armchairs scattered with books and parchment crowded around the fire. Scorpius absently noted a long-abandoned tray of tea and half-eaten scones smothered in clotted cream and strawberry jam; obviously his housemates had been studying (as expected) for the upcoming exams before the tantalizing view of the snow from the 18-foot waist to ceiling windows that lined one side of the room proved too much of a distraction and had set them off to play.

He started foreword from the doorway to the exit and glanced over his shoulder to the windows, then immediately froze in place.

There, sitting on a sill, one knee bent level with his collarbone and the other dangling off the side, absently staring out the huge panes of glass with an unreadable expression on his face was Albus Potter.

Scorpius frowned.

Though they'd been in the same year and sorted into the same house, they had never really interacted before. In truth, Scorpius thought, there couldn't be two more different people than himself and the middle Potter child. While Scorpius was reserved, quiet and shy, Albus was loud, boisterous and friendly to almost everyone. Where Scorpius chose the company of a select few people, Albus surrounded himself almost constantly with many – from all years and houses.

Despite their lack of contact, though, Scorpius held no animosity towards the raven-haired boy. They'd dutifully ignored each other for the past 6 years, in fact…not because of any genetic rivalry, but Scorpius had always felt a bit uncomfortable with the knowledge that by befriending Albus he would be forced to spend time with the entire Potter-Weasley clan. It was strange to see him there – alone – when there were probably at least a dozen or so students outside he could romp about with. The vision of him there struck him – just as the vision of his mother had struck him that summer.

And before he realized what he was doing (and the rational part of his head could catch up to his motor functions) Scorpius lifted his camera, aimed and clicked.

The noise of its capture was quiet, but by this time Scorpius' brain had officially realized what he'd just done (and was, in fact, absolutely horrified) his eyes widened impossibly as he lowered the camera, his heart slammed against his ribs in a constant, speedy rhythm and ever cell and follicle of his being began to scream 'run.' He complied happily, darting like a spooked deer out of the common room towards the Great Hall in almost record timing.

* * *

It took Scorpius almost exactly 5 days to finally work up the courage to visit the dungeon's darkroom and develop the picture – his inherent Ravenclaw curiosity and thirst for knowledge winning out over just how invasive it might be to see the middle Potter child behind the mask.

It took another 2 days to bring himself to look at it instead of allowing its presence to burn at the side of his left thigh, carefully fitted into the pocket of his charcoal grey trousers. He was in bed at the time – he'd tossed and turned for a long while, trying to sleep but failing long after his dorm mates had drifted off if their shallow breathing and the occasional light snore was anything to go by.

Finally he threw back the thick covers and rolled out of bed, holding back a string of colourful curses as the cold air from the room raised gooseflesh on his bare chest he grabbed his trousers from his trunk and returned back to his warm nest of blankets. He shut the curtains and snatched his wand from the bedside table, burrowing under the sheets so his knees rested on his pillow and his feet brushed against his headboard.

"_Lumos_." he whispered and immediately his make-shift tent was filled with a bright white light strong enough to force him to blink so his eyes could adjust.

He carefully ruffled through his pockets, gently tugging out the picture so as not to bend the corners anymore than they already had. His heart rate was accelerating and his hands were a bit shaky, but the covers protecting his head and torso made him feel a bit more comfortable despite their sweltering warmth. He swallowed thickly, not really sure why he was so nervous – even if his dorm mates were awake they'd never disturb him.

He looked down.

Albus sat in the same position that he had that day – the only way one might tell it was a Wizarding photograph was his occasional blink. At first, Scorpius thought there might be a mistake. When he'd seen the picture of his mother, the results had been immediate and nauseating, but the captured Albus showed no difference here than he had just today during Charms. He scanned the portrait critically for a moment, finally resting his gaze on the one visible, glistening green eye.

He gasped.

Albus was…kind. Gentle. Passionate. Loving. Intelligent. Loyal. Lost. Confused. Goddamn _beautiful_, but in some kind of turmoil. He felt alone, even when surrounded by a sea of family and friends. He had a crush on someone and it disgusted him. He wanted – needed – to talk to someone who might be able to understand. Someone who wouldn't judge him. Someone unrelated to the popular life he'd build for himself. Albus wanted –

Scorpius tore his eyes away, blushing furiously. He'd seen enough. He crumpled the picture tightly in his fist and jammed it back in his trouser pocket, already planning on the best way to destroy it tomorrow morning.

"_Nox._" he murmured and the light vanished. He wiggled his way back into a proper sleeping position, tossing his trousers on the ground beside the bed. What he'd seen in the picture – in Albus' eyes…in his soul – brought up a whole new series of nagging questions in his mind. W_ho could he have a crush on that makes him feel that way? His cousin? What's her name…Rose? Yeuch! Maybe he met a centaur and fell madly in love with it? Equally disgusting…but where would he meet a centaur anyway? Perhaps that crying ghost girl who haunts the 2nd floor toilets? What's her name…moping...no…moaning…moaning Maggie? Whatever….well…it would be difficult to have a crush on a ghost…_

Sleep evaded him.

* * *

Scorpius hadn't destroyed the picture the next morning. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. Instead it sat – light physically but heavy on his conscious – in a crumpled ball in his pocket. He'd stayed in bed, exhausted and a little cranky, until everyone else had risen and finally drifted off for about an hour before waking (embarrassingly enough) from the angry rumble of his stomach.

He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, not caring about much besides getting food from either the kitchens or, depending on the time, lunch in the Great Hall. Tossing on his crumpled trousers over his dirty boxers and absently throwing on a shirt he stumbled down the passageway and into the common room…then froze.

The same crackling fire from last week burned deep reds and oranges in the fireplace. The same couch and armchairs, now cleared of study materials still crowded around the flickering heat – the same room completely empty except for the same lone figure gazing out through the same frost-covered window.

"Albus…" He started, moving towards the boy then stopped.

_What the bloody hell am I_ **doing**_!_

Albus turned at his name and his head tilted slightly. Inquisitively. Scorpius could feel himself flush scarlet.

"Hello…did you need something?" there was no animosity in his tone, just pure curiosity and Scorpius – who'd never really heard him speak softly before – was surprised at how high pitched his voice seemed though it was definitely not girly or pre-pubescent. Scorpius found himself mentally debating – something that had become a habit since Aspen had moved away.

_'He needs a friend, I need a friend…it's only logical.'_

_'He's Albus Potter. You're Scorpius Malfoy. Potter's and Malfoy's aren't supposed to get along.'_

_'Just because our dad's fought against each other over a decade and a half ago doesn't mean we have to continue on that path.'_

_'We've never spoken. Ever. Who's to say he would want to now?'_

_'He's lonely, I'm lonely –'_

_'I'm not a bloody Hufflepuff! Talking about my feelings is un-manly!'_

_'I'm a fucking Ravenclaw and right now, trying to make friends with Albus Potter is only logica–' _

"Er…Scorpius, right?" Scorpius jerked a little, realizing he'd probably been staring right at the boy this whole time and fought back the urge to run screaming in embarrassment.

"Um…yes. I don't…I don't think I've ever introduced myself, even though we're in the same house and a lot of the same classes and the same year and –" _oh Merlin I'm babbling…_ he blushed harder, if possible and his eyes darted to the floor.

W_hat should I say now? How does one become friends with Albus bleeding Potter?_

Albus smiled. "Yes, strange, isn't it? You were dating erm…Aspen Kodak last year, weren't you? Before she moved?"

Scorpius gaped at him a little, wondering why he would think so.

"Er…no, not as such. We never, um…we weren't dating. Just friends."

"Ah." Albus blushed then – only a tiny tint of pink in his cheeks, and both boys looked away. After an awkward pause, the raven-haired boy smiled at him again.

"So…Scorpius…did you, er, need help with something? If you're looking for a tutor, or –?"

"Um, no…no tutor…" Suddenly, something akin to calm flooded through Scorpius and he locked his eyes onto Albus' forest green with a sad smile. "Actually…" he started, biting his bottom lip and moving towards the window. He stopped only a foot away and took a deep breath. "Actually, I was wondering…if I could help _you._"

Fin.


End file.
